


Grognak the Barbarian: Fatherless Cur!

by TaraTargaryen



Series: The Nuclear Option [10]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action, Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Feelings, Fluff, Love, Paternal Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraTargaryen/pseuds/TaraTargaryen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the dust settles in the Commonwealth, Danse and Adeline settle into something of a routine. This now involves the synth replica of Adeline's son. Danse develops a relationship with the boy and they read comic books together as he tucks the boy in.</p>
<p>All aboard the feels train, choo choo!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grognak the Barbarian: Fatherless Cur!

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I have been too busy playing Automatron and finishing uni assignments so I can play even more Automatron. Deal with it, 'cause Wasteland Workshop comes out on the 12th.

He scooped up the copper-haired boy and carried him over his shoulder, laughing, down the hallway. He tucked him into bed just the way he liked, and plumped up the pillows. Lastly, he set himself down and stretched his legs over the end of the bed. Dogmeat curled up around his shins. The small single frame wasn't built for a large man, a large dog and a small boy, but the three of them made it work. Finally comfortable, the boy pulled a comic out from under his pillow.

"Grognak the Barbarian: Fatherless Cur!" Danse read aloud.  

"This is my favorite one!" Shaun almost bounced back out of the bed with excitement. "Grognak meets his -" 

"Spoilers!" Danse held up a hand, a boyish grin plastered on his face. He had a feeling his new-found interest in comic books had something to do with the child's infectious enthusiasm. "I haven't read this one yet, you better not ruin it!"  

Shaun clamped his mouth closed, and mimed zipping his lips. "Grognak the Barbarian: Fatherless Cur!" Danse read again, and turned the page. 

 

* * *

 

 

Grognak stood alone, the bitter winds of another winter whipping around his legs. He could make out the familiar crest of a mountain to the east, and he knew of a cave at its feet. Wearily, he trudged towards it, though fierce snowfall threatened to blur his vision. With the sun concealed from him, he knew not how much time passed between this moment and the next, but finally he did collapse at the foot of Mount Valyrie. He crawled on his hands and knees into his old shelter, just far enough to free himself from the frozen fingers of the season and collapsed into sleep, unaware that he was no longer alone. 

 

He woke up to a blazing fire, warm furs thrown around him. "Our Golden Giant awakes." A soft, feminine voice welcomed him from the shadows. 

"Who goes there? Show your face!" Grognak growled. The woman stepped in the light. She was dressed in heavy furs, not unlike the Barbarian himself, hiding her figure. It is her face that draws his gaze. The left side belongs to a beautiful woman, with piercing green eyes and long, raven locks; with high cheekbones that cast dark shadows. The right is a hideous mess of burns and wounds long-closed that twist down her neck, into the collar of her garb.  

"I am Hicce," she tells him. "You stumbled into this cave in the dead of night. I have merely shared my campfire with  you." 

Grognak cast his eyes down, away from her wrecked face. "My apologies, Hicce. I am Grognak. I once lived in this cave, when I was a child. I did not think I would meet another here, not in the depths of winter." 

 

"In truth, I was only passing through. I became stuck here, in the storm, and lost my bearings. I feared I might not make it to Arbor." Hicce shivered in her fur, becoming lost in a memory. 

"Perhaps I can return your kindness, Hicce, for I too am headed to Arbor. I have business there," Grognak tells her truthfully. She looks up, hope flickering in her remaining eye. 

"You'd travel that far with a stranger? Not many would see the wisdom there." Half of Hicce's face twists upwards in a wry smile.  

"I am said to be a strong man, not a wise man." Grognak replies. "If you met someone smaller and more defenseless than you, wouldn't you be obliged to help them?" 

"Perhaps they are only pretending to be helpless," retorts Hicce. "Perhaps I've been fooled before." 

"Then you would follow the wisdom of your heart, as I follow mine. It costs me nothing to be kind." Grognak threw the stifling furs from his back, and begins sharpening his axe with a fresh whetstone.  

Hicce eyes the hard, gleaming steel, unfrightened. "Very well, Grognak, Golden Giant of Mount Valyrie. I accept your proposal."  

 

When the snowstorm ends, Grognak and his new companion emerge from the cave. On a clear day, Grognak can see all the way down to Arbor. Hicce covers her head with a deep hood, so that all Grognak can see of her is the tip of her nose. "It feels strange." She sighs. "Returning." 

"Indeed. I have been long absent from my place of birth." Grognak agrees. Hicce's dark hood turns to his face.  

"What is your business in Arbor?" She asks curiously. 

Grognak smiles faintly. "That is not yours to know." Though he cannot see her face, he can feel her eye on him, burning into his back. Perhaps if she had been looking, she would have seen the icebear first. 

It leapt out of the ground where it was buried in wait; camouflaged against the white snow and tosses Hicce to the ground, advancing on Grognak. He barely had time to draw his axe before its claws slashed across his chest. Grognak drops to his knees and rolls under the beast, throwing himself over Hicce's surprised figure. The icebear lunges! Grognak blocks its attack, wincing as its teeth bare down on the handle of his war axe with a sickening _crunch_. As it staggers back, Grognak lunges towards it, bringing his axe down on its skull, cleaving it in 'twain. Warm, red blood pools around his boots, and as the wind blows the soft snow around them, the beast is almost invisible again.  

 

* * *

 

 

Danse pauses, looking down at Shaun. The boy stares back, his eyes like giant blue saucers in his head. "Are icebears as big as yao guais?"  

"I don't really know, buddy. Look at the illustration -" Danse points at the page. "That icebear is pretty big, see? It's towering over Grognak. It could be as big as a deathclaw, even." He stifles his grin as the boy gasps. 

"Mom says, one time, you saved her from a whole cave full of deathclaws!"  

Danse didn't think it was possible for the boys eyes to get any bigger, but he stood corrected. His chin hit his chest. _Adeline's_ _favo_ _rite_ _bloody rumor is_ _still getting around the Commonwealth. Although, she does prefer the one where I 'savagely ravished' her in the cave afterwards._ He desperately hoped Shaun hadn't heard that bit. 

"Shaun, its important that you don't believe everything you hear. Do you really think I could have killed that many deathclaws and lived to sit here today?" 

Shaun eyed him skeptically. "Maybe. How'd you get that scar?" He pointed to the one on Danse's eyebrow.  

"That one? Oh, I, uh... well, I killed a whole hive of super mutants." He admitted sheepishly. Shaun's jaw dropped. "How about we get back to the story?" Danse added quickly. Beet-red, he turned his face back down to the comic. 

 

* * *

 

 

Carefully, almost tenderly, Grognak skinned the icebear. "You saved me." Hicce croaks. 

"I killed an icebear." Grognak counters. "It had nothing to do with you." Both are silent as Grognak finished his grisly task. He divides the meat up, wordlessly presenting the woman with the larger portion.  

As they resume their journey towards Arbor, Hicce keeps her distance, never taking her eyes off Grognak or his axe.  

As they near the gates, the woman finally speaks. "I don't want to owe you any debt." She snaps coldly.  

Grognak throws his shoulders back. "I don't consider that you do, if you don't want to. Next time, I'll leave you there to be torn apart. I'll walk away listening to your screams." He rolls his eyes. 

"That would have been a preferable fate to owing a debt to Grognak the Barbarian," Hicce sneers. 

Furious, Grognak grabs her collar. "Do you want to settle this now, outside the city? I will not fight you, woman."  

Hicce wrenches herself from his grasp. "I owe you _nothing_." She hisses.  

"Very well." Grognak turns his back, entering Arbor first, leaving Hicce on the road. 

"What was that all about?" The guard at the gate asks interestedly. Grognak offers a shrug and a grunt as a response. 

"I hear Petram Hard-Fist is returning to Arbor," he mentions conversationally. 

The guard nods. "On the eve of the 'morrow. A triumphant return of the Master of Arbor." 

"Indeed." Grognak nods politely, slipping through the gate and joining the thrumming population. 

 

In the market, Grognak sells the icebear skin for decent gold. At the butcher, he parts with the meat for more. "Tell me sir, is there an inn close by the harbor? I have business there on the 'morrow." 

The butcher nods sagely. "Unwise to do business on the harbor tomorrow. Hundreds have come to see the return of Master Petram to the city, and the celebration begins the very moment he steps off his ship." 

"Nevertheless, I have an arrangement there, and I won't miss it."  

"Very well. See Calida Caminus at the Stony Sands. She's my wife's sister. If you tell her I'll be discounting her on good icebear meat thanks to you, she'll give you a good rate."  

Grognak thanks the man and slips back into the crowd, though he stands as much as two heads taller than the largest man. He wanders through the city of his forebears, studying the architecture. 

Everything is made of warm, light-coloured stone, rough even under his calloused fingertips. The dwellings are small and squat and Grognak smiles to himself, thinking of Maula. She would scoff if she could see them. He watched the families, hurrying about their business with small children underfoot. They looked happy as they teased and ran circles around one another. He wondered about his own family; if they had been happy here. If things had been different; if he would have been happy here. The sun hit its peak, and began its descent to the horizon, and Grognak began slowly trudging in the direction of the azure blue sea.  

 

Calida Caminus was a rotund, red-faced woman, and Grognak liked her immediately. Beady black eyes spotted him from across the room as he ducked in the door. 

"You brought Carnifex the icebear meat then?" She put her hands on her hips and stared him down, though he was at least two foot taller than her.  

"I did, ma'am." 

The inn-keeper nodded knowingly. "He told me to look out for yer. As big as the Master, he said. Fair-haired like 'im, too. Can't miss 'im, he said. An' that bear meat was fresher than the rot Venator Malus usually brings 'im. Yer welcome to a room, then. Five gold a night, an' that's as good as a discount you'll get 'round here, with the Master home tomorrow." She offered him a soft smile as he counted out the coin. "Dinner's ready at seven. It'll be bear chops for you, sir."  

"Thank you kindly, ma'am." Grognak offered her a gracious smile and she gave him the key to room 13. 

"First floor, last door at the end of the hall." She pointed to the stairs and returned to her business. 

Grognak found his room easily, and removed his travelling clothes. Whetstone in hand, he sat on his bed and began to sharpen his axe. Out the window, he could the sunlight glinting off the waves, and a menacing, crimson-sailed ship in the distance. 

 

Grognak intentionally left late in the morning. He followed the crowds to the docks, where the infamous ship _Tenebris Rector_ was pulling in. He leaned against a stony pillar, obscured by shadows as Petram Hard-Fist's men disembarked first, forcing a pathway through the throngs of people. The crew lazily drifted away, one at a time, just those who weren't urgently needed, and disappeared into the crowds. The people grew restless; stories and rumors involving the Master of Arbor usually concluded that the man loved a show, loved to tease and make his 'beloved' people wait, always appearing at the eleventh hour to save the day while his men did all the heavy work for him. Cries of adoration became cries of frustration, and the waiting men cautiously turned their swords ever so slightly towards the crowd; a subtle warning. And finally, the man himself appeared, shaking hands with the captain of his boat as they descended.  

 

His breastplate was chiseled bronze, polished almost as clear as a mirror. His red loincloth hung to his mid-thigh, and his leather sandals caressed his muscled calves. His hair was hidden beneath his grand helm, its plume of crimson feathers adding a foot to his already imperious height. Grognak studied him coolly, remaining still. Now was not the moment to strike, he had already decided. Petram Hard-Fist raised his hands to the citizens, and a hush fell over them. "Fear not, beloved people." He boomed. "The Master of Arbor is returned victorious to his prosperous home!"  

The throbbing masses erupted in screams and applause, undulating with admiration. As Petram disappeared, his men flanking him on all sides protectively, Grognak stormed off angrily. _They cheer for a coward and a murderer,_ he thought viciously.  

 

Fitfully, he slept in through the early evening. He dreamed gladly of Maula, lovemaking in the meadows behind their home. She smiled mischievously over her shoulder, beckoning him towards her. As he caressed her shoulder, she lunged suddenly, knocking him on his back, a dagger at his throat. He crimson hair tumbled over her bosom, and her strange, lovely pink eyes were filled with a fear he had never seen before. "Wake up, Grognak!" She urged. "My love, you must _wake_!" 

He sat straight up in bed, his chest aching in his beloved Maula's absence. The window dressing fluttered innocuously. _Strange,_ Grognak thought. _I know I closed the window when I returned._

He reached out to pull the glass panes in, when he saw it, draped over the sill. A single, long thread of coal-black hair. Out in the night, nothing stirred except the wind, and there were no sounds but the rushing of the tides. 

 

* * *

 

 

"What's a bosom?" Shaun asked innocently. 

"Ask your mom." Danse mutters, flushing red again.  

"What does he mean by 'chest aching'?" The boy wrinkled his nose, looking down at the pictures. 

Danse sighed. "Well, it means he misses her." 

"Does that happen to you when mom goes away?" His voice was tinged with sad curiosity. "I think it happens to me when I miss her, too."

"Of course it does." The older man replied softly. "If something happened to her while I wasn't there, I'd... be very sad. We both would." At least Arthur had granted Adeline equal leave and work; attempting to foster a relationship with the Minutemen and the people of the Commonwealth. Danse still spent every second she wasn't home fighting the urge to follow her. He suspected she left him plenty of work for exactly that reason, and if he wasn't working, he was taking care of Shaun. The small boy wanted to know absolutely everything about anything. Sometimes Danse worried his own well of personal knowledge would dry up, and who could he take the boy to then? Valentine? MacCready? He supposed either would do, though he didn't much like the thought of collaborating with either man or synth.  

Dogmeat barked, snapping him back to reality. Shaun was looking up at him again. 

"Hello, Danse?" He squeaked, apprehensive.  

Danse suddenly became aware he had been furiously scowling. "Sorry, kid. I drifted off. Where were we..." Shaun snuggled into the crook of his elbow and he flicked the pages, returning to Grognak. 

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, Grognak scouted out the stone manor in the center of the city. Petram's men patrolled it vigilantly, and the gate to the courtyard remained firmly locked. After the third guard changeover, Grognak noticed the portly man in Arbor livery wiping a sweaty brow in the shadow of the wall. Curiously, he approached. 

"I'm sorry, the House of Petram Hard-Fist is not open to the public today. The Master will be inviting citizens in on – oh, I am so sorry. Forgive me sir, you are not properly dressed at present." The man bowed so deeply his glasses slid of his nose and landed on the stone floor with a plink. He did not reach for them.  

"I forgive thee," Grognak improvised in his most commanding manner. "I merely slipped out this morning for a stroll amongst the common people. Let me through the guard's gate and I shall forgive this oversight." 

"Of course, sir," the portly man gasped, tripping over himself as he grabbed the keys from his belt and opened the smaller door in the side of the wall. "Here you are sir." 

Grognak drew himself up to his full height and stomped through the door, marveling at his luck. The man was clearly short-sighted, decided, watching him squint up at him as he passed. Perhaps he had been mistaken for an important guard or member of staff.  

 

Once out of sight, Grognak slipped into the shadows again. Lush greenery crawled up the white stone pillars, and flowers bloomed in pots; a myriad of color Grognak was not used to seeing in Arbor. The courtyard was enormous. It had been known to also serve a purpose as a gladiator's arena, he remembered, which likely explained the size. As Grognak approached the manor house, he saw it. The stories did not do it justice. Twice as tall as a man, yellowed and weathered with age, stood the throne of bones. Skulls lined the feet. Femurs and spines jutted up behind the seat, which was formed from dozens of rib cages linked together by craftsmanship or sorcery; depending which tale you believed.  The armrests were kneecaps, ending in jaw-less skulls. A chair of death, a testament to a murderous brute. Grognak was outraged and saddened by the sight.  

"You there!" A man barked, and Grognak swore under his breath. He had not meant to be seen. He unsheathed his axe and turned to face the voice. 

The man paled, and dropped the helm he'd been carrying. His jaw dropped as if he'd seen a terrifying ghost. "The rumors are true." He whispered. 

"What rumors?" Grognak demanded, keeping his voice low, not wanting to attract more attention.  

The man – the soldier, shook his head. "Nevermind. You.. You need to get out of here." He ushered Grognak into the wall. More soldiers were exiting through another door and did not notice the pair.  

 

"Get out. Not just out of here, get out of Arbor. Go back to where you came from." The man's eyes were wild, his voice urgent. 

"Why?" Grognak wanted to know. "Who are you, to speak to me thusly?" 

"I daren't say, Saxum. Master Petram will have my bones for his chair." The man replied bitterly, leading Grognak up a flight of stairs. They ducked, creeping along the wall. "There," the man pointed. A wagon full of hay was stalling beneath them. "You can jump down into there, and hide in the hay. The wagon is leaving town. If you don't leave with it, Saxum sir, you life is forfeit. The Master has heard tell you have come to Arbor. I am no fool to think he will welcome you." 

"Who is Saxum?" Grognak asked urgently. "What are you talking about, man?" 

The soldier shook his head, pointing to the wagon. Sighing, Grognak leapt over the wall, landing heavily in the itchy harvest. As soon as he was out of sight of the manor, he slipped out and headed back towards the harbor. Grumbling, he shook the stiff hay out of his loincloth.  

 

Calida the inn-keeper took one look at him and ran a warm bath, for which Grognak was grateful. He washed himself of the hateful crop, swearing under his breath. Oh, how Maula would have laughed. She would be in her fifth month today, he remembered mournfully. What a fool's errand this was turning out to be. He should be at home, watching his wife's belly grow and stretch, listening to her warbling voice as she sang the lullabies of her homeworld. He snorted. He had domesticated Maula, the War-Maiden of Mars. She had put down her sword to bear him a child; make a home for his family. It was the thoughts of family that had driven him here, to the city of his birth. He had no father, no mother to share his joy. His foster father had passed on long ago. The vengeance he had dreamed of seeking in his boyhood resurfaced as he thought of his own future offspring. It had rolled and twisted in his mind, until he had thought himself sick with blood-madness.

"Will you ever rest, love?" Maula had demanded. "I cannot sleep well under this roof unless you have done _something_ about your past."  

He did the red-eyed woman's bidding, storming out of the house with axe in hand. "Fare thee well, Maula, my dear," he had called back. "Fear not that you birth the world yet another fatherless cur!"

He groaned. He had regretted those words since he left. 

 

On the 'morrow, Petram Hard-Fist would address his people. Grognak would challenge him then. He dried his body and closed the window of his room firmly, retreating to bed. He woke early and crept downstairs. Calida had set out tea and bread, and Grognak ate with gusto as she watched approvingly. "The manor house is open today," Calida announced, as if Grognak had missed the memo being shouted all over the city.  

"I shall likely attend," Grognak shrugged, as though the matter was of little importance. 

Calida nodded her approval. He wondered that her family had brains left to spare with all the head shaking they engaged in. "Many praise the Master. Few like to acknowledge his bad traits." 

"I have heard he has violent tendencies." Grognak replied carefully. 

The inn-keeper rolled up her sleeve. Cattle brands were burned into her skin from the wrist to the crook of her elbow. "His men held me down as he tore into my daughter. She stumbled before 'im, and tripped 'im up. He cut off her feet for her ignorance, and this was my punishment for my defiance. She died nine days later and I was sent thirty silver pieces for my loss. The girl weren't but six years old." 

Grognak studied the old scars, losing his appetite. He pushed the bread away. "He murdered my parents." He told her softly. Neither met the other's eye. Calida rolled her sleeve back down as other guests began to wake and enter the dining hall. 

 

When the sun was high in the sky, Grognak made it into the courtyard of the stone manor. He saw neither the portly man nor the soldier who had thought to recognize him. At the sun's peak, Petram Hard-Fist opened the doors to his balcony and strode out, descending the stairs, armor gleaming. His arms were raised, his hands balled in trademarks fists. The Master's arrogance was worldly renowned; but it still made Grognak roll his eyes. He let the people cheer and chant as he stood bestride his throne, as if allowing them to behold his divinity. Grognak felt his own lip curl.  

"My citizens," he said finally, resting his arse back into his chair. "Behold the return of your Master to the seat of his birthright." The man nearest to Grognak accidentally trod on his foot in his excitement, causing the giant to wince. "And yet, people, you have even more reason to be glad today. My closest, most trusted advisors have informed me of a truth that gladdens my heart. Missing these twenty five years, at last my beloved son, my boy Saxum Cautes has returned to Arbor!" 

Astonished gasps echoed across the crowd as Grognak faught sudden nausea. He shrank back into the shadow of the pillar he was closest too, as the crowd parted for a crimson-cloaked figure. 

 

"I am Hicce!" The figure cried, tossing back the crimson hood. Grognak watched some in the crowd physically recoil from the sight of her broken, scarred face. She drew an arrow, aiming at Petram's heart. "Eighteen years ago, you sent men to the house of my father to murder him and maim my mother. They tossed me into the fireplace as a young girl of but three years old. She screamed for mercy as I burned, and you laughed as you plucked out my right eye and fed it to your dog."  

Petram smirked. "And so you have returned as a woman, then. For what? Revenge? The moment you loose your arrow, little woman, my men will be upon you. Your arrow will brush off my armor and I will laugh again as I feed your other eye to my dog. When I have you on my knees before me, begging for mercy like your pathetic mother, I will gut you like a fish from the harbor, and let my people witness as my dogs feed on your organs."  

Hicce's arm faltered slightly, and the soldiers advanced on the woman. She didn't stand a chance. Grognak unsheathed his axe and straightened his spine, and tightened his loincloth. He strode across the courtyard, into the center of the plaza, and took a breath from the depths of his lungs. 

"I am Grognak the Barbarian." His voice carried across the now silent courtyard. "As a babe in arms, you murdered my parents in cold blood. A servant hid with me in a closet, and escaped as your men set fire to my ancestral home. I have travelled across the land, slain many beasts of all twisted temperaments. But none so hateful as Petram Hard-Fist, Master of Arbor, and Arbor's Doom." 

 

Instead of a vile retort, Petram stood from his throne of bones and removed his helmet. Golden locks fell past his shoulders. Deep blue eyes gazed down at Grognak from under a heavy golden brow. He reached a single, massive hand to his throat and unclipped his gleaming breastplate, letting it clatter on the stone before him. He set his masculine jaw and spread his arms, wide.  

Hicce's breath hitching and she refocused her arrow on her target.  

"Welcome, Grognak. Welcome home, my son." Petram's words echoed in Grognak's ears, and he swallowed. His heart didn't waver. He felt in his bones as he stared up at the older vision of himself, that Petram spoke the truth. "I had feared you lost to me forever, my boy," The monster began descending the stairs into the plaza. The people parted before them, gazing up at both men in fear. "My pride and joy, stolen from me in the night. My only son." 

"And my mother?" Grognak demanded, mouth dry.  

Petram paused. "I killed her." He announced, unrepentant. "I won't deny it. I found out about her plan to escape with you. Callidum was never a faithful woman. I knew that. The men knew that. Many of them doubted your paternity, even." Petram bared his teeth. "I slayed them, too, added their skulls to my throne. None shall doubt it now," he turned to the soldiers lining the stone walls. "Lest any man still believe Grognak the Giant, named under God as Saxum Cautes, is not the son of Petram Hard-Fist, let him speak now." Some of his men shifted uneasily, but the truth was plain. 

 

"She was going to leave me. Had she left with her lover, the pirate Captain Solum Nox, and never returned, I would not have cared. But Callidum refused to leave without you. You had a hand in her death, my son, because you existed. It was your name that drew the blade across her throat. The axe you wield now that parted Solum Nox's skull in 'twain, and your hand that tossed their bodies into the sea, and set fire to their ships." Petram grabbed Grognak's jaw in his hand, thumbs squeezing into the flesh. "Alas, my beloved son, I forgive you." 

Grognak snarled, twisting out of Petram's grasp. "You forgive me?" He thundered. "I am Grognak the Barbarian, orphan of Mount Valyria, a fatherless _cur_. I will not stand here and be -"  

Hicce's arrow flew from her bow, striking Grognak's bare chest. He stumbled backwards, shocked. "Hicce," he looked up at her. A single green eye stared hatefully down at him. 

"An eye for an eye, Golden Giant." She turned her gaze to Petram. "My mother and father for your only son." The smug triumph in her voice wounded Grognak more than her arrow as Petram howled with rage. He would claim no relation to this beast. 

"I should have cut out your bleeding heart instead of your hag's eye," Petram wrapped his fingers around the girl's slender neck and she cried out, dropping her bow. The people in the courtyard were scattering, and though his vision was blurring he could make out Petram's men hauling him to his feet. He snatched his fallen axe and swung wildly with boneless arms. 

He cut down four in his blind rage, crushing a fifth as his knees finally collapsed beneath him. He bellowed as a dagger pierced his side, beneath his ribs, wondering if the entire earth was shaking, or just him. He could see Petram's fist still wrapped around Hicce's throat; a glint of murderous rage in his eyes. Hicce was choking, blood streaming from her nose and ears. The last thing Grognak saw before he blacked out was the light, leaving her only eye.  

 

Grognak woke up in the blinding white sun, lying on the burning plaza stone, surrounded by bodies. He crawled on his belly to the raven-haired Hicce. Her face and throat were mottled purple and black, her features unrecognizable. His head snapped towards the sound of coarse laughter. Petram Hard-Fist grinned up at him, teeth stained red with blood. "I knew no inferior witch-poison could kill a son of mine. I watched you, in your _insanus statum_. Gods, but the beasts, and the men who have fallen to your axe... I can only imagine." 

Grognak looked down at Petram, seeing only a vision of his dying day. " _Insanus_ _statum_ _._ " He repeated glumly. 

"Blind rage. A gift from the Gods you are descended from. It runs in our blood." Petram grinned again, though his breath was agonized. Grognak drew his dagger.  

"We are not blood, Petram Hard-Fist. I returned to Arbor to lay rest to my demons; to avenge my mother and father before I hold my own first-born in my arms. Instead I found you." _I will die on my deathbed, surrounded by my children,_ he vowed. 

"Indeed you did." Petram eyed the obsidian blade in Grognak's fist. He closed his eyes. "I ask of you one question, Grognak. Which of my faithful men betrayed me in my darkest hour? Which was it then, that spirited you from me while my back was turned?" 

 

"His name was Dimidium Germanus. He raised me, and taught me how to fight. He would tell me stories about my mother and her cunning adventures. He told me he did not know my father at all." Grognak thought of the hairy, dark-bearded man with the rumbling laughter, who showed kindness to all creatures. 

"He lied, then. Dimidium was my half-brother. My father's favorite son, to his favorite wife. I killed Dimidium's mother, just as I killed yours. I left her to rot in a cellar in her family's home. Then I killed my father, and took his place as the ruler of Arbor. Dimidium mourned him for ten days and then vanished. I never saw my dear little brother again." Even in death, Petram was smug. 

Grognak got to his knees, groaning. "Next you're going to tell me there is someone you didn't kill." He snorted, concealing his pain from the wretch.  

"Just helping the wheels of time on their way, my boy. Now plunge that knife into my heart. Make it quick." Petram tapped his chest with a single finger. 

"No." Grognak smiled. 

"What?" Petram's eyes snapped back open, glaring up at Grognak. 

"I said, I won't." He sheathed the blade, and pressed the butt of his axe against Petram's knees, bringing it down hard. Petram howled as his kneecap shattered. "I am going home, to Barbaria. My pregnant wife will greet me at the door, and berate me for taking my time. Our child will be born come spring. I will know happiness. My child will want for nothing, even though his father was borne of nothing. You will die here, alone, loved by none, remembered by less." He brought his axe down on Petram's other knee, satisfied by the crunch of bone. "I renounce you. I refuse you the honor of death.  May the descendants of your people spit on your grave for centuries to come." 

 

Grognak turned on his heel, sheathing his axe. He gazed out across Arbor, admiring the glittering blue seas. He tightened his loincloth again, feeling the gold clinking in his belt. The quickest way home was a ship up the coast; perhaps he could barter for fare in the harbor. Some avoided his gaze, some nodded in thanks or respect. Most ignored him still. Life would go on here. Some dictator or another would declare himself in charge and day-to-day, things would go back to normal for Arbor. A ship named _The Zephyrus_ caught his eye; black sails adorned with a green kraken. A dreadlocked, dark-haired man about his own age swung down a rope, landing on the deck before him. "Grognak, my brother!" Solum Eurus grinned a toothy smile.  

"Eurus," Grognak laughed back. "How about a lift back to Barbaria?" 

"If Regina gets wind of you aboard my ship, she'll have my head." Eurus mimed decapitation, the Corsair Queen's favorite punishment. "But for you, my friend, I'll risk it." Grognak embraced the son of Solum Nox. "So where have your adventures taken you lately?"  

"I have some news, actually, regarding that sly father of yours..."  

Side by side, they headed for the captain's cabin. In another life, perhaps they would have been brothers. 

 

* * *

 

 

Shaun yawned. "Another one?" He asked hopefully. 

Danse chuckled. "I don't think so, boy."  

"Time for bed. _Both_ of you." Danse wasn't sure when Adeline had appeared in the doorway, but there she was, beautiful and imposing, smiling fondly at the two of them. 

"Mo-o-om," Shaun whined. 

"General's orders," Danse ruffled the boy's hair and stretched himself on the balls of his feet. Adeline rolled her eyes and crossed the floor, kissing her son's forehead softly.  

"I can see you yawning, Shaun," she told him disapprovingly. "Time for sleep."  

Dogmeat crept up the bed into the warm, shallow cavity Danse had left in the mattress. "Good boy," muttered Shaun, wrapping an arm around the hairy beast.  

"Goodnight, son," Adeline bid the boy gently, and headed for the bed she shared with Danse. 

"Goodnight. Son." Danse added softly, when he was sure neither Shaun nor Adeline could hear. 

 

Danse stretched out in his own bed, pulling Adeline into his arms. She rested her head on his chest, sleepily stroking his hair. "You're doing a lot better with him," Danse murmured. 

"Remember when you told me you wanted to stop focusing on what you've lost, and start concentrating on what you'd gained?" She turned to look him in the eyes. 

He brushed her hair away. "Of course I do." 

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery," she smiled shyly. "I'm... responsible, for Father. Maybe not for his direct actions, but..." She shook her head. "Shaun needs a mother, he needs affection and someone who cares about him. I can do that. I can give him my love." 

Danse pressed his lips to hers. "I'm proud of you," he told her. "So proud." 

She hid her face in his neck, and he felt her cheeks warming. Grinning to himself, he drifted off into sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think of Grognak's adventure! I have also written a brief for 'In the Bosom of the Corsair Queen' and 'Enter Maula, War-Maiden of Mars' but they are both EXTREMELY R-rated and I just can't convince Adeline to let Shaun read them. 
> 
> As always, I had a pleasure writing this. :)


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